


Trends

by pressedpill



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, METROSEXUAL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedpill/pseuds/pressedpill
Summary: Flashback fluff:• the metrosexual makeover, and how our favourite fidgeter reacted to it• aftermath of Craig and Tweek's fight, from both their perspectives
Relationships: Craig Tucker & Tweek Tweak, Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50
Collections: nov 2020 - sp creek server does metrosexual





	Trends

Tweek was largely unaware of the fashion trends in South Park.

He was far more consumed by his recent moment in the town's chaotic spotlight.

That five minutes of frightful fame had resulted in breaking and entering on a celebrity's property, tampering with police evidence, freeing a convicted murderer, and numerous other criminal offences.

The potential of being brought in and questioned for those infractions terrified him. Folks being flippant when he brought up the outrageous experiences did not ease his worries that something even worse was about to happen.

Every event continued to cut into his mind, unprovoked.

He swore to never get involved with any further shenanigans.

Still, avoiding stress and daily meditation did little to ease the harrowing flashbacks.

With a sharp knock, Tweek's centred world of peace popped like a bubble. He whipped around, peering around the sofa, wary of even answering the door. With great hesitation, he crept over, opening it the barest crack.

“Hey.”

If it weren't for his friend's voice, Tweek would never have recognized the sharply dressed boy on his doorstep. Craig was wearing a blindingly pink jacket with a massive collar of white fur, shutter shades, and tailored rose slacks. Most bewildering was the absence of his iconic hat. Tweek wasn't sure he'd ever seen him without it.

Slowly he opened the door wider, his questions cut off by Craig swooping past, a rolling suitcase trailing behind him.

“Who's at the door, son?” Mr. Tweak entered the room, beaming when he laid eyes on their guest. “Craig! Don't you look fabulous.”

“You're welcome.” Craig quipped, striking a pose.

Tweek mutely watched the spectacle of his friend and father exchanging practiced catty banter. It was an uncanny combination of familiar faces performing scripted lines from daytime TV.

Uncomfortably, he averted his eyes. By chance his attention fell on the shoes in the front entrance.

For Tweek's whole life, that space had been occupied by a few pairs of his dad's sensible loafers.

Now it was full of carefully arranged fashionable footwear.

The pieces of the puzzle came together.

Thinking back on the times he'd been out around town recently, the other kids had been dressed to the nine's, and their fathers more-so.

He startled at the snap of fingers in front of his face. Craig was inches away, annoyance apparent through his glasses. “Hustle.”

“Uh...?” Tweek turned around, confused and alarmed. His father was making a flourished exit into the den, leaving him at the mercy of his classmate's pincer-like grasp.

Craig dragged him upstairs, only releasing his arm in front of the bathroom. “Okay, so Jason and Token are all set. We just need to get you fixed up so we can really serve gold star sass tomorrow.” He spoke much more than usual, the words quicker and strangely affected.

Tweek didn't particularly like it.

He watched with a growing distaste as his friend proceeded to unpack cases of products onto the vanity.

“Hello?” Craig's eyebrows were raised expectantly. “Get in here so we can start.”

It was only recently that Tweek had grown accustomed to his new group of friends; he was no longer wildly nervous at every exchange. Craig, especially, put him at ease.

But now he was completely different. The predictability of his actions, his usual calm tone, were lost under the veneer of whatever persona was consuming him.

“What's going on?” Tweek remained in the doorway, his voice quiet.

The other boy paused, slowing his frantic arrangement of beauty products.

Craig's shoulders sagged, a glimmer of sympathy showing through the pageantry.

When he spoke again, it was in his normal tone. “It's the new thing, dude. We'll get destroyed in the playground if we show up dressed like we usually do.”

Tweek kept his eyes on the floor.

“You want to fly under the radar, right? The way to _blend in_ right now is to follow this trend.” Craig took off his shades, his expression sincere. “You have to trust me, Tweek.”

For a long moment Tweek stared at the unwavering gaze. Unobstructed by the trendy glasses, the blue eyes were the same-- familiar and calming in their confidence.

“Nng- fine.” He surrendered, letting himself be seated on the edge of the tub.

The cascade of pithy remarks fell away.

Craig worked in silence, brushing out Tweek's hair, parting it and applying low-lights.

The overpowering stench of dye alone would have normally made him bolt, but he was fixated on the proximity of his friend, the amount of physical contact involved in this ruse.

Previously, they had legitimately fought, as well as amicably roughhoused, and shared the typical closeness for boys their age.

This felt different.

It was delicate, done with care and sophistication. They weren't playing around like kids.

Tweek's fear of embarrassing himself or being in danger ebbed away. Even the overwhelming sense of pressure that typically would have addled him at that moment failed to surface.

Instead, he found a serene fortitude.

It was only when the hairdryer’s white noise cut out that Tweek realized he was abnormally still. The uncontrollable tremors had vanished.

Craig moved back slightly to assess his work. A second later, he stooped forward, fingers moving through Tweek's hair, sliding a few stray locks down.

Looking up covertly, he watched the other boy's concentrated expression. Craig seemed unaware that he was being observed, giving Tweek ample opportunity to study his friend.

“Did you do this for the other guy's too?” He murmured.

“Nah. We just met to decide on outfits.” Craig stooped down, his face barely an inch away, scrutinizing Tweek's eyebrows.

His eyes darted over to the tweezers in the taller boy's hand.

“This is going to hurt.”

“Ok- OW.” He jerked away.

“I told you.” Craig announced, tone softening when he learned back in, taking Tweek's chin in his hand. “Focus on something else.”

Those instructions weren't really necessary. The fingers cradling his face fully consumed his attention.

He felt like his heart had jumped into his throat. Paradoxically, he didn't want the moment to end.

All too soon, his friend's voice cut through his reverie.

“There. All done.” Craig intoned, his eyes meeting Tweek's for the first time since he'd started. Several seconds passed, and he simply stared.

Biting his lip, Tweek let himself enjoy the curious thrill that had replaced his natural apprehension.

People looking at him generally freaked him out, but this was different. He liked it when Craig looked at him, especially with that appreciative expression.

His friend turned away briskly, busying himself in his suitcase. He'd definitely been blushing before his retreat.

“Do I look okay?”

“Transcendent. Honey, I'm a miracle-worker.” Craig announced into the pile of clothes he was collecting.

Tweek let out a long, quiet breath. So he was back to acting.

“Holler when you're changed.” Craig handed over a stack of luridly coloured clothing and hastily slipped out of the bathroom.

Without much attention, Tweek kicked off his own clothes, pulling his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it.

Carefully he re-dressed himself in the outfit his friend had left. It was really tight, as if he were wearing something he'd already grown out of.

Shrugging into the jacket, Tweek looked at the unfamiliar person in the mirror.

It was shocking, to say the least.

His hair was laying flat, calculated strands flipped up here and there, accented by dark brown streaks. The eyes staring back at him were lacking their perpetual dark circles.

He turned to the side, surprised at how stylish the outfit looked. His small frame was normally lost in the oversized shirt and jeans that made up his daily wardrobe. This was tight, but flattering.

With a jolt of surprise, he noticed the monogram on his lapel.

 _Tweek_.

It took him a few minutes to collect himself.

“Done.” He uttered, opening the door.

Craig was leaning against the opposite wall, drumming his fingers on his leg. His head snapped up, stumbling over whatever witticism he had prepared. “Wo- cute. You're cute. I mean,” he blushed through his stuttered reaction, “you look really gay.”

“That's good, right?” Tweek felt the heat rise in his face as well. He'd never seen his friend so flustered.

“Yah.” Craig swallowed audibly, looking away. “It's good... right now.”

“Thanks... for the jacket. You got this made?”

The other boy rallied slightly. “Yup, we all have them.”

“OH- uh. That's really nice of you, man.”

Gripped by a combination of wanting to rekindle the feeling he'd experienced when they were close, and overwhelming gratitude, Tweek wrapped his arms around his friend.

Craig returned the hug for only a beat, breaking away quickly. “You don't have to do that.”

“Huh?”

“I'll handle the flourishes and greetings and shit-talking... all that.”

“I shouldn't greet you?”

“Don't try to do all the air-kisses and touchy stuff while this thing is going on.”

“Gnn... I wasn't doing that. Jesus! I really meant-” He was sharply cut off.

“Just... stay quiet at school.” Pressing his lips together, Craig looked away.

\---

When he was a kid Craig was, what he called, a social introvert. He enjoyed playing alone, but didn't mind hanging around other kids when he was bored or their games seemed more interesting than watching television.

Friends, on the other hand, he was more selective about. They had to be measured, logical, and have the foresight to know when a situation was best avoided.

Enough bizarre shit happened in South Park without purposefully getting involved.

Naturally he gravitated toward like-minded people.

One of those people was _not_ Tweek.

The scatterbrained boy was a loner at that time, not particularly engaged with his classmates,

frequently absent, and flat-out unable to deal with any event that required even the slightest responsibility.

While Craig didn't consciously ostracize or tease him like their peers, his assessment of the kid wasn't stellar.

His opinion changed entirely the day Tweek punched him square in the face.

Apparently he wasn't as frantic and inept as Craig had assumed; when push came to shove, he could rally, learn new skills, and confront his foes.

That warranted respect.

Shared hostility actually helped him form a new opinion. The pair had plenty of bonding time while laid up in the hospital for days after the fight.

As their antagonism died down and he actually spoke to Tweek, his wary disinterest did a complete flip into piqued fascination.

With the lingering animosity and underlying shame of getting involved in something so juvenile, Craig wasn't exactly sprinting toward becoming bosom buddies.

Yet, obligated to be in the same room, he couldn't help but be intrigued by his classmate's chatter.

Tweek was more relaxed and talkative than Craig had ever seen him during lessons or recess. He spoke almost constantly during their waking hours, on a myriad of subjects.

Not one of them was boring.

The respect that had been seeded grew rapidly.

Most people became boring after the first few moments they spoke. But it had been days, and Tweek continued to have unique stories, novel observations, and compelling opinions.

His cohort also seemed better able to read Craig's muted responses than most acquaintances; he never asked if Craig was bored or mad.

Occasional glances were thrown his way to gauge how certain topics were being received, but Tweek only fell silent when the flat look returned to him was one of fatigue.

After that day, Craig deliberately included him with his friends whenever the other boy was alone. Lingering wariness about being embarrassed by the blonde's manic energy was quickly quashed when Tweek effortlessly conducted himself when removed from the spotlight and allowed to have normal every-day interactions.

\---

When he was a kid Tweek was, what he called, an unwilling socialite. He seemed perpetually to be the centre of attention, adults and other children focusing on him for predominantly negative reasons. Whether or not those memories were solely a creation of his brain, or had been actual events, was lost in the the blur of crushing anxiety that made every single day seem insurmountable.

So much was going on in his head, so many voices chattering at him and in him, that confusion washed out everything else.

He consistently tried to reach out to others, tell them about the overwhelming static that was his life, but those practised catchphrases were met with either dismissal, quick fixes, or teasing.

When a person did emerge from the whirling circle of exclusion, it was to make him do something ludicrous. Every time, he went along with it, largely because his petrified form was easy to push around.

In the aftermath of iconic South Park absurdity, it took centred appraisal to figure out whether or not it had actually happened.

Tweek had never been aggressive.

He was vaguely aware that he was supposed to fight some kid he didn't know, and tried to muster the angry feelings that were sometimes undercurrents in the ocean of paranoia.

Being socked by Craig Tucker needed no appraisal.

That was definitely real, and it had made him furious.

What faced him was suddenly crystal clear: a kid his age, wearing a mask of arrogance over naive bewilderment.

That expression would become branded into Tweek's memory from that day on.

Though he didn't feel bitter while in hospital following the fight, he made a show of continuing the scuffle, in an effort to reach that clarity again.

He felt a connection to the boy in the bed beside him; whether it was augmented by his dysfunctional brain or not was inconsequential. He wanted to forge something between them, to reach out of the cloud of disassociation.

Knowing he couldn't fake social graces like the other kids, and would inevitably babble about something odd, Tweek proceeded to spill each notion, conspiracy, and belief he had.

To his astonishment, every word was met with interest.


End file.
